Chapter 7
7
Walker
I’d said goodbye to the family, stepping out into the cool spring air with a mix of defeat and new purpose. I wasn’t sure which one would win out but I didn’t want to go back to my place, which sat only a five minute walk from Gray’s house, and have to think about that dinner conversation all night.
I knew I was responsible for my family’s impression of me, but I’d been less and less of a wild spirit and more like a cow tied to a post lately. And it didn’t seem to matter. I guess I’d have to do something big to change their perception, but I didn’t know what. I thought manning up and bringing new business ideas to the table would be the thing, but Gray didn’t want to hear it.
The night sky was peppered with stars, but it wasn’t enough to light the fire in my chest. My boots crunched on the gravel as I made for my truck, the leather of the steering wheel familiar under my hands. I needed something else tonight, something to drown out the voice in my head telling me I was still that reckless kid in their eyes.
My engine roared and tires kicked up dust as I drove down the road and into town. When the neon sign of the Dusty Barrel came into view, I felt a half-grin tug at my lips and parked my truck in the lot behind the building. The place was always good for a laugh, a drink, and forgetting your worries until morning. I wouldn’t act a fool and bring home a one night stand like the old days. But I could at least drown my sorrows for a bit.
Swinging the door open, I stepped into a haze of chatter, clinking glasses, and a country tune crooning about lost love and found freedom. The Dusty Barrel was alive with the kind of vibrant energy that could make you forget the world outside its walls. I edged through the crowd, the buzz of conversation washing over me like the warmth from the old potbelly stove in my house.
“Hey, Walker!” someone called, and I raised a hand in response without breaking stride. The bar smelled of aged whiskey and worn leather, scents that spoke of hard work and harder play. Laughter erupted from a group by the pool tables, the sound as infectious as the twang of a well-played guitar.
“You lookin’ for a whiskey, Walker?” the bartender, a broad-shouldered guy named Hank, asked with a knowing look as I approached.
“Make it a double,” I said, sliding onto a stool. I caught sight of myself in the mirror behind the bar—brown hair curling around my ears, blue eyes that didn’t shine quite as bright today. I blinked, shaking my head and looking away.
The glass touched down in front of me, amber liquid catching the dim light. I picked it up, the weight familiar in my hand, and took a sip, letting the burn slide down and settle deep. For a moment, I let the sounds of the bar wrap around me, a comforting blanket of life being lived loud and without apologies .
But somewhere beneath the din and the whiskey warmth, the dreams of the ranch beckoned—the wild beauty of the horses, the satisfaction of a day’s hard work, the legacy I wanted to build. It was time to prove I was more than just a pair of hands, more than the last name I inherited. I wanted to earn it.
The twang of a steel guitar cut through the chatter, and I swiveled on the stool, leaning back against the bar to scan the room. That’s when I saw her—Jessie, with that same wild mane of hair and a smirk that knew too many of my secrets. She sauntered over, hips swaying to the rhythm of a honky-tonk anthem, each step a chapter from a past I was trying to rewrite.
“Hey, Walker,” she drawled, her voice as smooth as the whiskey in my glass.
“Jessie.” I nodded, tipping my hat slightly—a gesture of respect for the history we didn’t need to speak aloud.
“Looks like you could use some company tonight.” Her eyes glittered with an invitation I’d accepted more times than I cared to remember.
The old me would’ve taken her up on it without a second thought, drowned the restlessness in her familiar touch. But the echoes of dinner still rang in my ears—my brother’s skeptical look, my mother’s hopeful gaze. They saw the same Walker who always found his way back to the comfort of fleeting pleasures. A good-time boy and not much else.
“Thanks, but not tonight.” The words surprised even me, rough-hewn and unfamiliar.
“Come on, don’t be like that.” Jessie leaned in, her perfume a mix of wildflowers and temptation. “You know we always have a good time.”
A good time. The phrase bounced around my skull, hollow and taunting. I glanced at the half-empty glass in my hand, wondering if the burn was enough to scorch away the yearning for something real, something lasting.
“Sorry, Jessie. It ain’t you. I’m just . . . I’m looking for different these days.” The admission felt like a lasso tightening around my chest, squeezing out a truth I hadn’t known was there.
She raised an eyebrow, then shrugged, the corners of her mouth quirking up in a knowing smile. “Your loss, cowboy,” she said, before turning on her heel and disappearing into the crowd.
Left alone with the buzz of the bar and the ghost of what could’ve been, I took another sip of whiskey, the liquid fire a stark contrast to the cool resolve settling in my bones. Commitment, responsibility, legacy—they were fences I’d been too scared to mend, but now, they seemed like the only path worth taking.
I watched the throng of dancers, the soles of my boots sticking slightly to the beer-slick floor, when a familiar laugh sliced through the twang of guitars and fiddles. Turning towards the sound, I caught sight of Sutton, her brown hair bouncing as she threw her head back in mirth, and across from her, a woman whose laughter matched the timbre of nostalgia.
Caroline Cressley.
The years had been kind to her, trading the shy glances of high school for a confident shine in those green eyes. She was a memory made flesh, all grown up and sitting right there in the Dusty Barrel, sipping on a drink through a little red cocktail straw.
I shouldn’t bother her. I wasn’t sure I’d want to see Sutton right now so soon after family dinner anyway. So I fell into conversation with Hank and some of the regulars whose stools might as well have been labeled with their names.
But I couldn’t help that every couple minutes, my eyes sought Caroline again. All of their own accord. I surely didn’t try to seek her out.
But the fourth time I glanced over, I saw that she’d been watching me. She gave me a smile, warm and bright, and I couldn’t help but return it.
“Fuck it,” I whispered to myself. “Hey Hank, can I get another?”
We were friends now. I refused to consider any other reason I’d felt drawn to her. Caroline was as sweet and innocent as they come. I wasn’t about to tangle her up in my mess of a reputation. But I could be her friend.
After grabbing my drink and leaving some cash on the bar, I let my feet carry me closer. Caroline hadn’t noticed me approaching yet, too wrapped up in conversation with Sutton, but I couldn’t help the grin that tugged at the corners of my mouth.
“Mind if I join?” My voice intruded gently, nudging into their bubble of camaraderie.
Sutton’s gray eyes flicked up, lighting up with welcome and mirth. “Walker! Sit on down, cousin. You remember Caroline, right?”
“Of course,” I said, tipping my hat as I settled into the booth next to her, muscles relaxing into the familiar gesture of greeting. “Doc and I had breakfast the other day, but I’m gatherin’ you already heard about that.”
Caroline’s cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink and I nudged her shoulder with mine.
“Okay, guilty. You know how this town likes to talk.”
I pursed my lips. “Mmhmm, sure do.”
The ice in my glass clinked as I took a sip, the whiskey burning just enough to keep me sharp. Sutton was mid-laugh, throwing her head back in that carefree way of hers, while Caroline’s chuckle was more reserved, like she was still testing the waters after being away for so long.
But it was nice to have someone in town who didn’t think the worst of me.
“Remember when we tried to sneak into old man Jenkins’ barn for that Halloween dare?” I asked, nudging the conversation towards the shared ridiculousness of our youth. Caroline and Sutton were two peas in a pod back then, and before the politics of high school life hit us, we’d shared quite a few adventures.
Caroline’s eyes sparkled with the memory. “And he caught us, waving that pitchfork and hollering like we’d summoned the devil himself.”
“Scared the daylights out of me,” Sutton admitted, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. “But you, Walker, you were laughing even as we ran like bats outta hell.”
“Wasn’t nothing but an old guy in his undies and a bad temper,” I quipped, the corners of my eyes crinkling with the smile I couldn’t suppress.
“Seems like you haven’t changed much,” Caroline observed, her voice light but carrying an edge of truth that made me take a longer look at her. She’d sure changed—the shy girl from school had morphed into this poised, beautiful woman who could probably cut a man down to size with one of her diagnoses.
“Maybe not on the surface,” I conceded with a shrug. The bar’s din swelled around us, a mix of laughter and off-key karaoke blending into the backdrop of our growing reconnection.
“Listen, I know dinner was rough tonight?—”
“Sut, don’t.” I really didn’t want to deal with that right now. Especially in front of Caroline. I wanted to forget about it, at least for tonight. I took a long gulp of the whiskey.
“I just wanted to apologize. For my part in it, I mean. I didn’t realize Gray has been so hard on you. ”
“It ain’t no thing.”
Caroline caught my eye, and her concerned expression might have slayed me if I wasn’t feeling the alcohol.
“It seemed like a thing,” Sutton said. “Anyway, I’m not trying to dwell. Just letting you know, I’m on your side and I think your ideas are really good. I told Gray as much before I left.”
Caroline shifted her gaze between us, then smiled. I found it interesting that she was all I could focus on.
“Ah, my dreams are pointless to my big brother. But I appreciate your support, Sut.”
“Of course.”
“I think your ideas are amazing, Walker,” Caroline said, her green eyes reflecting the twinkle of the bar lights. “I’ve read about equine therapy; it can really help people. It’s . . . meaningful work.”
“Meaningful,” I echoed, liking how the word felt, especially coming from her. “That’s the goal. To leave a mark, you know? Something that’ll last longer than the echoes of a good party.”
“Leaving a legacy,” she mused, nodding slowly. “I can relate. Taking over Dad’s practice, it’s not just about keeping things running. It’s about building on what he started, making it my own.”
Our gazes held for a beat too long, and something unspoken passed between us. A mutual understanding, maybe, of the weight of responsibility and the drive to carve out our place in this world. A small town might seem like a place where dreams get trapped like flies in honey, but here we were, both aiming to spread wings wider than Whittier Falls’ horizon.
“Building and leaving legacies,” I repeated, the words wrapping around the possibility of new beginnings—for the ranch, for Caroline’s practice, and maybe, just maybe, for whatever was simmering between us .
The conversation flowed as easy as the river after a spring thaw, but every time Caroline laughed or tucked a stray auburn lock behind her ear, my gut clenched with something that felt dangerously close to longing. It was like watching the sun rise over the ranch—beautiful and full of promise—but I knew better than to get caught staring for too long.
I had to shut down those feelings. She was back in town, I was trying to get my life together. There was no way I was gonna bring her reputation down to my lower level. But we could enjoy each other as friends.
As the night wore on, the Dusty Barrel began to empty, folks trickling out like cattle through an open gate. The music softened, and the laughter became a quiet hum. It was getting late, and I could feel the weight of the day settling on my shoulders—the restless need to prove myself, the hunger for something more substantial than fleeting pleasures.
“Looks like it’s closing time,” I said, glancing at the neon clock above the bar.
Caroline sighed, fiddling with the straw in her glass. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
People still mingled, but there was a steady exodus out the door. We stood and I walked them outside, slipping my hand on the small of Caroline’s back to guide her through the crowd as Sutton led the way in front of us.
“You good getting home, Sut?”
“Yeah, I already ordered an Uber, which means Tex will be along shortly.”
“Wait, Tex? Like that guy from school?”
“Not from school, from around school,” Sutton said with a laugh.
Tex Baker was one of those guys who hung around high school long after he’d graduated. It creeped me out now to think about it, but when I was a kid he seemed so cool. No one really knew how old he was, since he hadn’t graduated on his first, or even second, attempt at senior year. But he was at least a few years older than Gray.
“Tex is our resident Uber driver. He’s the only one in town most of the time, but every once in a while students on break from school will join up and we’ll get an influx of drivers for a few weeks,” I explained.
“I’m surprised we even have one,” Caroline said.
“Oh, there he is now. See you, guys. Thanks for coming out, Caroline. I’ll text you tomorrow!”
She gave Caroline a kiss on the cheek and hopped into Tex’s old Camry.
“Well hey there, Doc. Nice to have you back,” Tex said in a drawl eerily reminiscent to Matthew McConaughey. Sometimes I wondered if he did it on purpose, but I was pretty sure he was just high all the time.
Caroline gave a half-hearted wave. “How does he even know who I am?”
“It’s Whittier. No use askin’ questions like that,” I said, guiding her down the sidewalk. “You didn’t drive here, did you?”
“Nah, my house is just a few blocks away.”
I nodded. “I’m probably gonna crash at Mason’s for a bit. Why don’t I walk you home?”
“You don’t have to, it’s really not far.”
“My mama didn’t raise me to let a lady walk home alone in the dark. Come on, Doc.”
She giggled at that, and the sound was so refreshingly sweet I about got a toothache. I held out my arm and she tucked her hand into the crook of my elbow. The feel of her sent a warmth through my veins that contrasted with the cold breeze.
“Thanks for hanging out with us tonight. High school me never would have thought one day I’d be at a bar sitting next to Walker Anderson.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. You’re pretty.”
She giggled again and I wondered how many drinks she’d had.
“Well thanks. You’re pretty too.”
“Yeah, but you’re like . . . conventionally pretty. Strong. Popular.” She let her mouth pop around each syllable.
I laughed.
“I should shut up,” she said, covering her mouth with her free hand.
“No, no, I like the way you’re complimentin’ me, darlin’.”
She did stop talking though, but it wasn’t awkward. We walked together in a comfortable silence down Main Street until she led us to turn onto Cypress Court, a street known for its old Victorians. After a few minutes, she stopped at the walkway of a yellow house with white gingerbread trim. It was smaller than the others, but just as beautiful, with a carefully landscaped yard and big wraparound porch.
“This is me.”
“It’s nice.”
“Thanks. I always loved this street growing up. It’s weird being an adult and owning a house on it now.”
“I bet,” I said with a laugh. “Everything about being an adult is weird.”
We stood there for a moment, neither of us moving. Then, she took a deep breath, her gaze meeting mine with an unexpected intensity.
“Walker,” she started, hesitating just a beat, “can I ask you something—a bit odd? ”
“Shoot,” I said, bracing myself for whatever curveball was coming my way.
She bit her lip, considering her words. “Well, it’s just that . . . I’m not exactly skilled when it comes to . . . men. Flirting, dating, all that.”
My eyebrows shot up. Was Doc Cressley actually opening up about her love life—or lack thereof?
“And I was thinking,” she continued, “since you’re, well, experienced . . . ”
“Experienced, huh?” I teased, trying to keep the mood light despite the flutter in my stomach.
“Yes, experienced,” she confirmed with a small smile. “I was wondering if you’d teach me. How to flirt, how to . . . get a man’s attention.”
The request knocked the wind out of me like a wild bronco. Caroline Cressley, asking me for flirting lessons? This was the kind of thing I’d expect in a lighthearted dream, not standing here in the heart of town after a drinking session at the Dusty Barrel.
“Caroline, I . . . ” I trailed off, searching her earnest green eyes, seeing the vulnerability and the trust she was placing in me. It stirred something protective inside me, something warm and uncharted.
“Don’t say anything now. Just . . . think about it?” she offered, her voice barely above a whisper.
I should say no. This was Caroline—sweet, smart, not the type to get tangled in my usual whirlwind. But looking at her now, all grown up and asking for my help, something shifted inside me.
“Sure,” I said before I could second-guess myself. “I’ll think about it. ”
Her relief was palpable, and she flashed a grateful smile that reached all the way to her eyes.
“Thanks, Walker. That means a lot.”
“Anytime, Doc,” I said, tipping my hat with a grin.
She gave me one last smile, then turned and walked to her door. I watched as she dropped her keys, cursed, then finally got the door unlocked and disappeared behind it.
Yeah, I should say no. But why did every part of me yearn to tell her yes?